


Hands of Blue (3)

by 2x2verse (agent_florida)



Series: 2x2 [6]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, Sexual Experimentation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-22
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2018-02-14 06:32:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2181591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent_florida/pseuds/2x2verse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternate title: <strong>Six Times John Tried To Put It In Rose's Vagina (And One Time He Succeeded)</strong></p><p>EB: rose, i need help.<br/>EB: everyone is hot.<br/>TT: Oh, John.<br/>EB: what???<br/>TT: Welcome to your sex drive.<br/>TT: You're a few years late, but it's not a race.</p><p>--</p><p>Backstory for To by Too. "Chose not to use archive warnings" because John and Rose are 16.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> why am i working on this instead of anything important

\-- ectoBiologist  [EB] began pestering tentacleTherapist  [TT] at 01:13 --  
EB: hey.  
TT: Hello, John.  
TT: You're up awfully late.  
EB: so are you! hehe.  
EB: i am glad you are here to talk to though.  
TT: One of the benefits of having a passive-aggressive parent is she couldn't care less about the hours I set for myself.  
TT: Are you having another anxiety flare?  
EB: i don't think so?  
TT: Did you take your medication?  
EB: i took it two hours ago.  
EB: i should be sleepy by now.  
TT: That's not good.  
TT: What's on your mind?  
EB: nothing!  
EB: nothing really.  
EB: nothing at all.  
TT: Not only did you answer too quickly to be entirely honest, but you've always been a bad liar.  
TT: And you also chose to message me instead of my dearest brother, who is also awake right now.  
EB: i know.  
EB: i just.  
EB: rose i have to vent and if i don't i feel like i might explode or something.  
EB: so if you could just never tell anyone anything i tell you ever, that would be great.  
EB: yeah.  
TT: I know you value your privacy, John.  
TT: And if nothing else, I'm here to listen.  
EB: rose, i need help.  
EB: everyone is hot.  
EB: girls are hot.  
EB: guys are hot.  
EB: other people are hot.  
EB: trolls are hot.  
EB: carapaces are hot.  
EB: even cherubs are hot.  
EB: and i think there is something wrong with me because i can't sleep thinking about stupid things i saw during the day and i just feel itchy sort of.  
EB: i don't know what is happening but it happened fast.  
EB: roxy asked me a question in class today and i didn't even hear it because i was paying too much attention to her boobs.  
EB: then when i was about to drive home i was in my car and i saw dirk at football practice and he took his shirt off and all i could think about was the muscles in his back and whether the rest of him is just as tan.  
EB: i accidentally put my car in drive instead of reverse and scraped the front bumper to hell.  
EB: i never noticed any of this before and i don't know why i am noticing it now but it is kind of freaking me out a little!  
TT: Oh, John.  
EB: what???  
TT: Welcome to your sex drive.  
TT: You're a few years late, but it's not a race.  
EB: so i'm not a complete pervert?  
TT: Not yet, but I'm sure that will come in time.  
TT: Besides, nothing can so thoroughly mentally scar me as what Dave put me through two and a half years ago.  
EB: this is normal????????  
TT: I'm not sure whether to say fortunately or unfortunately, but yes.  
TT: This is completely normal.  
EB: then why can't i sleep?  
TT: Because you're worrying yourself over nothing.  
TT: Turn off your computer, do a few circular breathing exercises, then try to sleep.  
EB: like i have been doing for the past hour and a half?  
TT: If that's not working to relieve your tension, I know what I would recommend, but implementing it is up to you.  
EB: i will try pretty much anything at this point.  
TT: Have an orgasm.  
TT: It will certainly tire your body enough.  
EB: just... HAVE one?  
TT: Don't tell me I need to walk you through this process.  
TT: You see, John, there is this very special place on your body.  
TT: And yes, you are allowed to touch it.  
EB: oh my GOD ROSE.  
EB: PLEASE STOP.  
EB: I GET IT.  
TT: I am being serious, you know.  
EB: I KNOW.  
EB: sorry for the allcaps, i am just.  
TT: It's all right, John.  
TT: Take a moment.  
TT: If you still can't sleep, I'll probably still be here.  
\-- ectoBiologist  [EB] is an idle chum! --  
\-- tentacleTherapist  [TT] is an idle chum! --  
EB: rose i am so sorry.  
TT: What are you apologizing for now?  
EB: i was.  
EB: i was doing a thing.  
EB: and then i started thinking of you and i am really sorry, i am the most sorry, i didn't mean to, i feel awful.  
TT: John.  
EB: yes ma'am?  
TT: Were you masturbating?  
EB: am i going to hell?  
EB: i am pretty sure i am going to hell.  
TT: You're not going to Hell.  
TT: On the contrary, I'm flattered.  
EB: oh.  
EB: ok.  
TT: In fact, color me curious.  
EB: what?  
TT: Tell me what you were thinking about.  
TT: It may help me help you.  
EB: i don't know!  
EB: you are just.  
EB: rose, i don't know if you know this, but you are really attractive.  
EB: like your boobs and stuff.  
EB: and i bet your skin is really soft.  
EB: i guess i was just thinking about kissing you while you were doing what i was doing.  
TT: You know, these things don't have to stay fantasies, John.  
EB: rose.  
EB: it is really late and i am tired and jumpy and also very confused.  
EB: so answer me a question.  
EB: are you flirting with me?  
TT: No, I'm propositioning you.  
EB: you aren't trying to pull a prank on me or anything?  
TT: All I'm saying is, if you want it to happen, it will.  
EB: you are my best friend's sister.  
EB: won't it be weird?  
TT: You're my best friend's brother.  
TT: You and I are friends, at the very least.  
EB: that is true.  
EB: we are all friends here.  
EB: and you... want to?  
TT: What's a little harmless sexual experimentation between friends?  
TT: I can help you write the owner's manual for the care and keeping of your own personal sex drive.  
TT: Bleep bloop, achievable unlocked.  
EB: now i know i won't be able to sleep tonight.  
EB: and you're serious about this?  
TT: I swear to Calmasis.  
EB: you never joke about wizards.  
TT: I know.  
EB: so do you maybe want to hang out at your house tomorrow and we can at least talk about this?  
EB: because this kind of hit me like an eighteen wheeler going seventy on an icy road.  
TT: It certainly sounds better than trying this at your house.  
TT: Your father is intimidating.  
EB: i don't disagree.  
EB: and rose?  
TT: Yes?  
EB: ... don't tell dave?  
TT: Don't tell Dave.  
EB: ok, i am going to try to sleep.  
EB: you should sleep too.  
EB: i worry about you staying up so late sometimes.  
TT: You're so considerate, John.  
TT: Never change.  
\-- tentacleTherapist  [TT] ceased pestering ectoBiologist  [EB] at 02:32 --


	2. Chapter 2

“Um.”

“So, John.”

Contrary to popular belief, things don’t stop being awkward the minute Rose serves you tea. It’s still just you and her in the sitting room of her house. Her house has a sitting room. It’s covered in wizard statuettes. This is not where you’d choose to have this conversation. “Can we maybe go somewhere else?”

Rose arches an eyebrow at you over her teacup. You have no idea how she manages to condense her, well, condescension into something as tiny as a facial tic. “Where would you suggest?” Clatter of china.

“I don’t know. Not here. Herbert over here is freaking me out.” There are too many eyes here.

The way Rose smiles at you is like there’s a conspiracy between the two of you. “I don’t like them, either. Want to go to my room?”

“Your room?” Wait. “Your room.” Wow. “Rose Bartholomew Lalonde, I swear to God I’m not a pervert, I just wanted to talk—”

“And if you’d rather talk without old wizened beard magic listening in on the conversation, we can just go upstairs.”

“Point.” You let her circle her hand around your wrist and drag you around her house. Her fingers are cool and pale against your deep skin; your pulse leaps to her fingertips. She must have given you mug because she knew you’d be uncoordinated enough to spill a teacup. You’re like a puppy tripping over your own feet sometimes.

Of course, when she leads you up the stairs, it means her ass is in your face and you get distracted again.

Rose’s bedroom is… oddly muted. You have no idea what you expected. Lots of lavender, perhaps. Pastel goth themes, or a sinister-looking innocent pile of stuffed animals in the corner. No, instead it looks… not unlike yours, really. There’s bookcases cobbled together from bits of discarded furniture, cloth tacked to them to make curtains, and behind the cotton you can tell the shelves are overfull and bowed in the middle—you know how much Rose reads, and you know she’d never throw out a book. Hell, even the lamp on her nightstand, one of those crane-looking things, is sat right on top of a pile of books. Her walls are a nice, inoffensive shade of beige.

And there is nowhere to sit but her bed, really. Or you could sit in her computer chair and she could sit on her bed, or vice versa, but there she goes, you let her drag you around until she’s sitting and you’re sitting and you are on Rose’s bed. This is a thing that is happening. “Better?” she asks.

“I think.” You’re not sure. “Um.” And now you’re right back where you started.

“Should I tell you a little bit more about the tea?” Rose offers, taking your mug from you to set it on her nightstand. You think your head might fall off from how vigorously you nod.

She starts talking and you lose your place. It’s like trying to watch a movie and getting distracted by something happening in real life between you and the screen; your attention wanders. Rose’s voice is also really nice, the perfect mix between sharp and soothing. And she talks with her hands when she’s trying to illustrate an idea. She sets down her teacup and saucer, keeps talking, gesticulating. Her hair is tucked behind one ear but not the other. Every time she moves her hands her boobs go with them.

You have no idea when she filled in—guess you weren’t paying too much attention—but she filled in really nice. In middle school Rose was like the fat goth chick no one wanted to hang out with. She’s still a goth chick in appearance, but she’s not what you would call fat or anything. She’s certainly got some proportions going on, but they look really hot on her. It’s like in the past few years all the extra there ever was to her went straight to her chest and her butt. You also don’t remember being this much taller than her.

Rose makes a delicate throat-clearing noise and you realize you’ve been blatantly staring at her chest for the past fifteen or so minutes, watching her breasts shift back and forth and do interesting things to the cleavage you can see in her v-neck.

Your face is doing a thing that you don’t like it to do; you feel so hot it’s like steam should be shooting out of your ears. “I wasn’t staring!” you lie, and you start blustering with hot air thinking about how you’re possibly going to defend yourself.

“I don’t mind,” Rose says, and you deflate pretty much immediately. “You didn’t used to be like that, though.”

“I know.” Is it possible to die of embarrassment? Probably not, Karkat’s still alive, but now you’re seriously considering it.

Rose adjusts her headband and tucks that errant piece of hair behind her ear. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re perfectly justified. I _am_ rather attractive.” That sly smile is made absolutely wicked with her wine-dark lipstick.

“I. Yeah,” you admit bashfully. It would be bad form to disagree, so it’s a good thing you don’t. “Sorry, I didn’t even notice, it just—”

“Keeps happening,” Rose says alongside you.

Yes, you can still laugh at this without getting locked-up awkward about it. Who knew? “I’m falling down all these stairs, Rose.”

“I could always help you back up.”

“Uh.” Your brain stutters. “I.” To cover for your sudden lack of words around the wordiest person you know, you push your glasses up on your face. There is a panic attack skirting the edge of your chest right now and you resolve to keep an eye on it. “Rose, can we not joke about this, I am maybe freaking out a little and kind of want some advice sort of.”

“Whatever could you possibly be freaking out about, Jonathan?” She tilts her head at 45 degrees. She looks absurdly like a cat when she does that.

“You know.” You will not stare at her boobs while you talk about this. You stare at your hands instead. They are in your lap. That’s safe. And you don’t have to see how Rose is staring at you and judging you so you just blurt it out and it all comes out in a gust, “I am so ridiculously sorry for doing that last night, it was totally uncalled for and if you never ever want to be friends with me ever again—”

“I told you that didn’t have to just be a fantasy of yours.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t—” Your mouth is dry. “You didn’t mean it, did you? You’re just going to psychoanalyze me and then I can go home, ha fucking ha look how screwed up John is right now.”

“If it would make you feel better, I’ve done it too.”

“Psychoanalyzed yourself over this?”

“Touched myself to thoughts of you.”

Warning, error exists between brain and mouth, critical system error, parts too hot to process, continue y/hy/hfy?

“When?” is the first word that comes out of your mouth. It sounds so stupid that you just want to cram it right back in there.

Rose shrugs. Short jerk, but her shoulders stay up at her ears. “I could look it up in my diary but that might take some time—I know it was post-reset, and we were, I don’t know, fourteen? You might still have been thirteen, but I knew. I already watched you grow up, and I knew what you’d look like, and I knew you’d get there.”

“Yeah, it’s.” Kind of weird going through puberty all over again, sort of. “I don’t remember getting hit with this before.”

“In your defense, we were all a little distracted.” Rose’s shoulders drop, but now she’s hunched in her back and clawed in her fingers—an impression of the monster at the end of the world with his flashing eyes and golden fang.

“Some of us more than others,” you point out. You still remember how weird it felt when you were on the meteor and literally every other person you even maybe sort of knew a little bit was in some sort of relationship. And not even telling you about it, just sort of assuming you’d find out!

“John,” she says softly, cutting off your snippy tone.

She’s right. It’s no good being jealous now about something that feels like it happened in a really, really long dream fugue thing that you feel like you’re still waking up from. This is the second time you’ve grown up, now, and you thought you could do it right this time but then you just kind of got blindsided by this. “You’re right. Bluh, this is stupid, whatever. I just don’t know how to talk about it.”

“We don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to,” Rose reminds you.

“Yeah, but I want to, is the problem, I just don’t know how without sounding like a jerk.” You run a hand compulsively through your hair. This is not going to help the whole sticking-on-end thing it does constantly, is it. “How do people even handle this on a daily basis?”

“From my experience, it levels out after a while.”

“Yeah, but you’re.” How do you say this without saying it? “A girl.” You say it anyway.

Rose scrunches her nose at you. Shit, she still looks really cute when she does that. She’s always looked cute when she’s done that but now it’s especially cute because the rest of her is drop-dead _gorgeous_ jeez you cannot handle being in the same room as this girl. “Trust me, you will eventually stop wanting to hump everything in sight, I think Dave—”

“Can we not talk about my best friend right now, please and thank you.” You’ll ask him later how he dealt with this. Key word: later. This conversation is about you and Rose and about how she keeps dangling a carrot in front of you and you’re not even sure whether it’s real.

Rose holds her hands up in mock surrender. “All right, but in the meantime, you can always talk to me.”

“Just talk?” Do you sound too hopeful? Oh god, did your voice just crack?

“Not necessarily.” She studies your face. “Have you ever kissed anyone?”

“I kissed you once, if you reme—”

“Anyone _alive_ , John.”

“Oh.” Well. “Yes.” Will she ask you who?

Rose’s smile is poison, you just know it. “So you know how this part goes, then,” and she leans forward.

The first contact of her lips with yours is… sticky, sort of, if you can use that word. You think it’s her lipstick. She draws back cautiously, breath sweet in your face, and you wipe your mouth on the back of your hand—deep deep red purple black. “Maybe you could—”

“Let me just—” She reaches for a tissue, scrubs at her mouth. Even without the lipstick it’s still stained such a pretty pink color. “Let’s—”

This time, you don’t wait for her. You might not be one hundred percent confident, but you reach out for her face, cup her jaw, and bring her back to you so you can kiss her proper. Much better—soft. Plush. She huffs a little breath out of her nose and you smile against her mouth.

She doesn’t even seem shocked when you start getting your tongue into it. Just a little at first, just licking along her lower lip. But once you go to French her proper, she’s right there with you, and your tongue slips against hers and oh. _Oh._ It’s never felt like that before, like what she did just plucked a string in you, tension all the way down your spine and a twang that resonates in your bones.

Rose brings both hands up to cup your face, like you somehow wanted to get away or something. Your thumbs end up somewhere dumb like her earlobes or something but what is important is that you are doing a kiss and liking it a lot. Her mouth tastes really good, but you wouldn’t be able to describe it if someone asked you to. Part, cling, part again, your mouth doesn’t want to leave hers and fucking magnets how do they work.

Lean—gravity shifts as the springs roll on the bed—and one of Rose’s hands is small and hot on your knee, just where your shorts stop covering. Taking her hint, you hook a few fingers around her thigh and she does this thing where she makes a noise between an “ah” and a squeak right into your mouth. It’s somehow cute and hot.

You want to make her do it again.

Kiss harder, drag your palm down her leg until your fingers hook behind her knee, and then the bed shifts all over again as she gets even closer to you, leg slung across your lap, and boobs. Her boobs are right up against your chest. “Rose,” you say, somewhere between meaningless and actual question that needs answered.

“Yeah?” comes out a little breathless on her end. She had to pull her mouth away from yours to talk, but it just means her lips slip down your chin, along your jaw, wow that feels amazing and somehow even better on your throat.

“Can I maybe touch your—”

It’s not even all the way out of your mouth before her hand reaches, grabs yours, and manhandles it right over a breast. That is also a totally acceptable answer to your question, you guess. It’s perfectly heavy and round, the best handful, and you try not to squeeze too hard but you just have to feel the squish and yes. This is a thing. Boobs are a thing with you. “Can I—” her hand comes to the bottom hem of your shirt— “take off—”

“Yeah,” and then both her tiny pale hands are pushing up your shirt and showing your stomach and you’re a little embarrassed because there’s? hair? but she doesn’t seem to mind so much. It would be ticklish if there wasn’t such an intent behind it. A smattering of kisses to the spot just under your ears and then Rose pulls up the cotton so fast you nearly get whiplash.

When it comes off your head you know your hair is irrevocably messed up, but at least your glasses are mostly straight. She even sets those back right again as she keeps kissing you, languid slow as she crawls further into your lap. “Wow,” she breathes into your mouth, and you inhale her praise like it’s a drug. “You’re.” The wordiest woman you know is somehow speechless as she runs her hands down your arms. Back up your sides, down your chest, feeling out your structure under your skin. “Really _hot_ ,” and okay that word goes straight to your crotch and swims somewhere in the heat of your gut. “God, John, when did this happen?”

“I don’t know,” okay, you’re a little flustered and you have a handful of boob and a very good friend is sort of straddling your lap and you’re shirtless in front of her and she thinks you’re attractive and you’re convinced she’s gorgeous and you’re not sure when this started happening but you don’t want it to stop. “When did this happen?” Your hand perfectly slots into the curve of her waist, draws her closer.

The crotch of her pants is right up against the zip of your shorts and you freeze.

She kisses you and you melt again.

Fire and ice playing along your nerves like some kind of dark magic, hair standing on end as you continue to kiss her like you could steal the words from her tongue if you just licked at it enough. Her hands come down, her arms cross in front of her, and then she’s rearing back and her hips nudge even _harder_ against yours and her shirt, her shirt is coming off, that’s a bra and her breasts in it full to overflowing and you grab her and haul her collarbone to your mouth because it’s what you _want_ and it makes her giggle so there’s that too.

The more you dance your mouth across her skin, the more you breathe against her just to watch the goosebumps rise, the more she grinds into you. There’s a rhythm to it. Something like breathing, something like refrain. Her fingers clutch hard at your shoulders, nails digging in, and even that feels good somehow, like she just wants to get under your skin in the only way that matters.

Grind, and grind, and grind again, and god you’re dizzy with how hard your heart is pounding, how bone-deep your own breath goes. Rose’s hand sneaks between your bodies, comes down your front, cups around where she slots against you, oh.

The way she touches you, though, you forget to be embarrassed that you’re already hard over just kissing her. Maybe it’s not just kissing if you have your shirts off? What base is this? You’ll have to look it up later. What matters now is that she’s feeling out the shape of you through the thick fabric of your shorts and not getting very far. “Is this what you wanted?” she pants into your ear.

“Yeah,” you admit, and let your hand slip down to her ass. She’s nothing but handfuls, which makes sense because she’s quite the handful ordinarily.

“Is this what you were thinking of?” Hand moves more pressurized, then thumbs at the D-ring of your belt.

“God yes,” a girl is going to touch your dick and that girl is Rose Lalonde and you can tell she’s staring at you with piercing bright eyes under those quivering eyelashes but you can’t even bring yourself to care when it’s you she’s looking at so intensely. When you try to help, your fingers tangle with hers until it gives, button, zip, pull down, you try not to be self-conscious but heat’s rising to your face because how are you going to be able to tell with her if she’s this turned on?

Screw it. You go for it, doing the same as she did to you, outlining the space between her legs with the broad pressure of your palm, and her body does a beautiful shiver in your arms like you just drew a bow across a cello string. The two of you are tuning each other to fever pitch, even as you pass your hand across her again, even as she pulls down your shorts and your briefs go with them and you’re now sitting on your waistband and your dick is just kind of out there, slung across your hip and just looking happy to be included.

Rose touches it with a few cool fingertips to overheated flesh, drawing from base to tip, and then she makes a mouthnoise. It is a weird mouthnoise. It sounds a little like a horse whinny mixed with a fart sound. “What?”

The vague nickering starts turning into a giggle. Rose is staring at your junk like it is an actual venomous snake that might rear up and bite her at any second. At the same time, she is very, very gently petting at the head. Again, like it might actually bite her.

“Rose.” She doesn’t quite stop laughing at you, but it turns into a weird hiccup instead. “Why are you laughing at me?”

“This isn’t real, is it?” Passing her hand down and she just laughs again.

“Um.” You’re not sure what’s redder right now, your face or your dick. “It’s definitely real?” Like it needs to prove itself, it pulses against her touch. “Why, what’s wrong with it?”

“Let me show you something.” She delicately circles finger and thumb just under the head—rolling your foreskin just enough to be a tease, jesus—and holds it upright. Then she moves her other arm so it’s right behind. Oh. Is this supposed to be a comparison? “It’s the—” giggle— “the length of my _forearm_ , John, how—” outright incredulous laughter. Rose Lalonde is laughing at you.

This is not happening. You slap both hands to your face and start giving your glasses some impressive-looking fingerprint smudges. “Oh my god.” You’re not a praying kind of person but for the love of god you’ll start now. “I don’t—I don’t know what to say—sorry? Is that a thing I should be saying?”

“It just won’t _fit_ —” she keeps trying to calm down from her gigglefit but her nostrils keep flaring out with all the mock she’s trying to keep in. “I didn’t know they made them that big, I thought it was a _joke_ , John, but this is real—”

Her hand slides down, back up, and her words stop mattering.

Slow slicked slide from the pre glazing your shaft. Just a little, small grip of her hands at the top. And it makes your breath go backwards, it makes your lungs feel full, it blows a tornado right through you and leaves you a jumbled mess. Her up-down gives you a sort of cadence to your breathing, gradual, easy.

“—just, if you thought this was going to happen today, it’s not, I’m sorry, I just can’t, I think it’s physically impossible.”

She’s still trying to words at you. “What?” comes out muzzily from behind your hands. When you peer through your fingers, there’s color blooming in Rose’s cheeks. Her breasts are threatening to spill over the cups of her bra and her lips look glossy-swollen.

She moves closer to you, putting her mouth at your ear like she’s about to tell you a secret; it mashes her boobs against your chest and god you just want full-frontal contact with her forever. “Sex,” she whispers.

“You—“ your voice cracks, this is a parody, this is an after-school special, this isn’t actually happening— “you actually want to?”

“I did, until I realized I’d probably just hurt myself trying.”

“God, I don’t want to hurt you, Rose,” spills out of you hot and honest.

She kisses your ear. Too sweet, too tender, because she’s still idly giving you that handjob, after all. “Never change, John.” Her free hand pulls your palm away from your face, aligns it with hers, and you realize your fingerspan dwarfs hers. Comically. “Even this much might.”

Um. “What?” Comprehension problem exists between brain and penis.

“I’ve thought about it.” Her breath is still hot against the shell of your ear; she’s practically kissing your earlobe with each syllable. “The way you play piano, you’re very dexterous, John, and I’ve wondered what it would feel like if it were your fingers instead of mine.”

It hits you like an erotic hammer to the chest: you lose all your breath at once and get more than a little dizzy trying to keep up with where she’s going. “You want me to—to finger you?”

“If it wouldn’t be too much, but—”

Butt. What a great idea. You reluctantly stop hiding behind your other hand just so you can plop it down unceremoniously on her ass. It makes a soft little pap sound and Rose jolts. Just a little, just enough. Hm. Maybe later. But that thing, the crotch thing you were doing before, she seemed to like that, right? Your hand slips right back where it had been and Rose’s hips do this thing, where she pretty much pushes her everything right against your palm, and you realize she’s actually grinding against you. “I—do you want—what do you want?”

“I—” Her hair’s starting to look frizzed, coming out of its neat little bob, and her headband’s slipped back. She bites her lip, so you lean down, bite it for her, and you realize she was doing that to hold back a noise, a really really nice noise that you maybe want to record because it sounds like a song, like violins. “Let me get my pants off.”

Hell yes.

She has to let go of you to do that.

Aw hell no.

She climbs out of your lap, starts doing the shimmy-shake to get out of her bootcuts, and her boobs do this jiggle. Right in your line of vision. You can see down her entire cleavage. And you realize—she’s wearing black. Black bra, black panties.

It wasn’t you who decided to do sex today.

The second her pants are puddled around her ankles, Rose kicks out of them and launches right back into your lap. Except this time, she’s kind of off-center, straddling one of your thighs. And she’s full-pressed into you, contact from shoulders to hips, pushing her tongue into your mouth like she owns it.

You could really get used to this. You try not to. Instead, you hold her tight to you. Your dick is pinned between the two of you, getting just that barest edge of friction with every breath through your bodies. Rose moves her hips and she is definitely grinding her crotch into your thigh wow. That’s kind of hot. “God you’re so hot right now” comes out of your mouth, because you have less than no filter right now when your dick is this hard.

“Took you long enough to notice.” Rose still has the audacity to smirk even as she’s panting she’s working so hard.

Maybe you could help a little? A hand on her lower back, guiding her movements, and she moves with you this time, her belly against yours, the head of your dick sliding somewhere near her navel, just perfect, just enough, “wow, Rose, that’s—”

She hums, nods, and goes into overdrive. One of her hands combs through your hair, then seizes and wrenches so she can hold your head exactly where she likes while she plunders your mouth like she’s getting away with murder. The other is right back on your dick, grip around the parts not already pushed up against her, smoothing out the grind, working out the angles.

It’s nice to have Rose totally in control of everything, even as she’s falling apart. You take her lead, and you’ll follow her wherever she wants to take you right now. Somewhere along the line your brain started fragmenting into nothing but whirlwind images, random words, the smell of her skin, the wisps of her hair, the damp of her panties against your leg. “That feels—really good, Rose, I’m—”

“Could you cum like this?”

What kind of stupid question is that, “yes, yeah, I could,” it’s only the first time ever someone other than you has touched you there and it’s not like you’re a teenage boy or anything who’s primed to blow at the mere sight of tits apparently.

Rose grinds into you harder. You wonder if she’d move the same if you were—if the two of you were actually—if you were inside her, if she were in your lap, “are you close?”

“Yes, yes,” meaningless blather of assent that keeps getting more frantic the more she jerks you off, the more she ruts against you, the more she smushes her breasts against your chest, the more she licks along the tender space just under your tongue.

“Come on, then,” and smooth-talking Rose is stuttering now with her whole body the closer the two of you get, you’re nearly there, you can almost taste it lingering behind your teeth, “cum, do it—”

That same getting-hit-by-a-truck-and-liking-it feeling sweeps over you, scalp to soles, and you turn yourself inside out for her, this girl who showed you the light. It splatters across her belly and you hate how it makes her look dirty for this. “Rose,” you breathe out into her, showing her how when she’s reaching for it so hard she can’t catch her breath, and then she crumbles, shaking in your arms delicately like a petal in the wind.

No one’s ever really told you what happens afterwards. There’s a girl sitting on your lap, a girl who is one of your best friends, and your thigh feels vaguely wet from where she’s been humping at it. Her weight is slumped against you, her face tucked into the hollow between your neck and your shoulder, and her hand falls out of your hair to mindlessly pet at the place between your shoulderblades, running her nails in a gentle prickle across oversensitive skin.

You think you should feel embarrassed or something, but that comes on its own time—after a few moments, when you realize that you’re still half-naked with your flagging dick still flopping out of your pants and Rose in her underwear blinking like she’s just now waking up. Should you say something? You should say something. You don’t know what, just _something_. “Um.” Not a word, more of a hum, but it’s more than the silence that’s threatening to settle between the two of you. “Was that okay, I mean—“

“Hm,” Rose says, and shifts in your arms so she can reach for her nightstand. Ah. Tissues. To clean up. She doesn’t ask you to, but you take them from her hand anyway—it’s your mess, you feel like you should be the one to clean it up. Not scrubbing at her too hard, but enough so that she’s not completely stickygross from what you just did. “Should put my clothes back on.”

“Yeah, I mean, um,” and then the reassuring warmth of her body is no longer cocooned up against yours and she’s reaching for her pants and okay yes her ass is pretty much in your face and that’s awesome and you shouldn’t be getting excited again like this how much of a stereotype do you even want to _be_ , god. Nope, need to get everything tucked away as soon as possible, pulling up underwear and shorts and getting your belt fastened again. Rose hands you your shirt and you pretend like you didn’t just see her sniffing at the collar when she plucked it off one of the posts of her headboard.

Everything is very quiet. “Are you okay?” Rose asks you.

“I think,” is your first response, which probably wasn’t a great one. “Did that just happen?”

“Yes.”

“With you and me and—please don’t make this weird, Rose, I mean, that was amazing but—we’re still friends, right?”

“Always.” She’s sitting next to you on the bed again, just like she was before all this changed things. Her head is leaning against your shoulder, but she’s not trying to hold your hand.

Maybe she’s right. Maybe she means it. “I’m just—I wanted to talk and then—you aren’t going to tell anyone, are you? Not that it’s a secret, I just don’t things to get weird with everyone.”

“I understand.” Maybe she does. Maybe she gets it. You’ve had three best friends since—since forever, it feels like, and you don’t want to lose any of them just because maybe it turns out this wasn’t the smartest thing to do with one of them.

“And, um.” Seems like a stupid thing to ask for, but “don’t tell Dave?”

Rather than seeing her nod, you feel it against your shoulder. “Don’t tell Dave.”


End file.
